“When are you being released?” he asked as I inhaled both items. With a little food, my attitude mellowed. I might even like the nurse if she came back.
Nah, probably not.
“I’m checking out at one thirty,” I said.
“That’s just another hour and a half. I’ll wait and take you home.”
That was not a very good idea. “I’ve already got a ride.”
“With who?”
“A friend.” Maybe that was stretching it a bit, but I wasn’t going to admit my ride was with a cop.
“Just call her and tell her your husband is taking you home.”
I really wished he’d stop that husband business, but I didn’t think this was the time to bring it up when I needed money from him to pay for the pizza. “I can’t do that. I don’t know how to reach my friend.” That was sort of true. His business card with his extension number was home with my clothes. “Look, it’s already set up. My friend is going to my house to bring me back some clothes, then take me home. Everything’s planned. I really appreciate your offer, but there’s no point in it.”
“I’m your husband. You can change those plans for me.”
I was getting distinctly unmellow. “No, I can’t. Didn’t I say that already?”
The arrival of the pizza put a temporary end to that conversation, though I knew it wasn’t over for good. I had to get rid of him before Trent showed up. How would I explain that a cop was taking me home after a case of food poisoning?
Of course I didn’t get rid of him. Nothing worked, not even pretending to take a nap.
Rick waited.
Trent arrived at one thirty with a canvas bag and my purse.
He stopped at the door when he saw Rick.
Rick sprang up from his chair when he saw Trent.
“What are you doing here?” Rick demanded.
“Taking Lindsay home. What are you doing here?”
“Taking my wife home.”
“No, you’re not,” I protested.
“This is your friend?” Rick asked and gave me that condescending look he did so well.
“Yes.” I wasn’t buying the condescension thing anymore.
“He’s that cop.”
“Can’t slip anything past you, can I? Trent, if that bag has clothes in it, I’d be thrilled beyond measure if you two boys would leave me alone with it for a few minutes.”
Trent set the bag and my purse on the bed, then he and Rick went into the hall and closed the door behind them.
Trent had packed underwear, canvas shoes, cutoffs and a T-shirt. For a cop, he was all right.
I dressed hurriedly, listening for sounds of violence outside my room. I didn’t know if the door was sound-proof or if the guys were waiting for me to come out and be a witness to the bloodshed.
I opened the door to find both men standing facing each other, legs a shoulder’s width, arms crossed over their chests and grim expressions on their faces.
“I’m ready, Trent,” I said. “Thank you so much for the pizza and the flowers, Rick, and for coming by to check on me.” I barely stopped myself from adding the standard superficial suggestion that we do lunch sometime. My mother’s training.
“So now you’re not even going to pretend this man isn’t your lover? I was right all along.”
I didn’t dare look at Trent, but I thought I heard him choking.
Where’s a huge chasm in the floor when you need one to fall into? “Rick, don’t do this. Detective Trent is a police officer. That’s all.”
“Oh, really! If he’s not your lover, why is he taking you home?”
“Because I need a ride home. I’ve just had my stomach pumped and charcoal shoved down my throat. I’m not up to the third degree. Can we talk about this later?”
“No problem. I’ll get your flowers and meet you at your house.”
“I meant later as in tomorrow or next week or the twelfth of never, after I’ve had a little time to recover,” I said through clenched teeth.
He smiled that famous smile. “Sure. I’ll bring your flowers to your house then Detective Trent and I will both leave you to rest and I’ll pick you up Saturday afternoon to go to dinner at your parents’ house. You should be all recovered by then.”
Maybe I shouldn’t be so eager to leave the hospital after all. If I stayed over until Sunday morning, the problem of that Saturday night dinner would be solved.
The hospital insisted I leave in a wheel chair, and Trent and Rick had a grim, silent tug of war to see who’d push me. The nurse won. He was big and burly. I’m pretty sure I didn’t bite him, because we chatted happily as he pushed me out of the hospital. Trent and Rick didn’t say anything.
When Trent and I were seated in his generic, standard-detective-issue, dark blue sedan and pulling out of the parking lot, he finally spoke.
“We got the lab report back.” His tone was all business. He’d lost the teasing lilt. Just one more mark in Rick’s debit column. “There was a shit-load of potassium trichlorate in the pudding cake. It’s a slow-acting poison that’s virtually tasteless except for a slight bitter flavor which would probably be hidden by the chocolate.”
“No, I noticed it. My taste buds are very sensitive when it comes to chocolate. But I already had a bitter taste in my mouth from the fear of thinking that nut was in my house, so I figured that’s all it was. Do I want to know how I’d have died if hadn’t been such a glutton?”
“It’s not the worst death. Potassium trichlorate works by slowing down all your muscles, including your heart. Your death would have been diagnosed as occurring from natural causes. I doubt if whoever planted the poison thought it would happen so soon, though. He probably anticipated that you’d have a piece when you got home from work tomorrow or after dinner, then die in a couple of hours. He must have panicked when you came downstairs and almost caught him. He was probably watching you after he ran out. Otherwise he wouldn’t have known you’d eaten the poison and passed out and he’d better get the evidence and run.”
I shivered.
“Air conditioning too cold?”
“No, but my proximity to cashing in my chips sure is.” I turned sideways in the seat to face his rigid profile. “Trent, you’ve got to stop this guy. He’s crazy. He wants Paula in prison and me dead.”
“You know, you keep saying that, but you don’t give me anything to work with. Let’s say I buy into your theory about somebody wanting you dead so you won’t hit him with a bunch of lawyers who don’t exist. We still don’t have any motive for somebody trying to get Paula in prison.”
“We certainly do! We have a damn good motive. I just can’t share that information with you right now.”
“Well, if you ever do decide to share that information with me, maybe we can get somewhere. In the meantime, we’re not making a lot of progress. We did search the house across the street today. And if I may remind you, we didn’t have a lot to go on except your suspicions and a hole in the hedge, so don’t go all ballistic on me about how I’m not doing anything to help you.”
“What’d you find in the house?”
“Nothing. We could tell by the way the dust was disturbed that somebody had been in it, especially in the attic room that faces the street. There was apparently a lot of activity in that room, but whoever it was didn’t leave any evidence for us. Damned inconsiderate of him, I know, but some criminals are like that.”
“The attic room! I knew it! Sunday evening I thought I saw the sun glinting off something metallic in that window. Probably a telescope. That ought to prove something. Why would somebody be hiding out in a vacant house and watching Paula from a telescope while listening to her from those hidden microphones if he wasn’t up to no good?”
Trent’s jaw clenched. “Damn it, Lindsay, all it proves is that somebody was in the vacant house. For all we know, it could have been a homeless person or teenagers having a party or any number of things. We have no proof it has anything to do with Paula or Lester Mackey. We do
n’t even have any proof those hidden microphones exist.”
“If the blood on Henry’s claws matches the blood in Lester’s apartment and his car, that will prove it.”
“We didn’t get anything from Henry’s claws.”
“Damn! Maybe he wiped it all off while he was shredding Fred’s screen. Did you check there?”
“Modern technology is great, but it does have its limits.”
We rode in silence for a few minutes while I tried to figure out some way to convince Trent that Paula needed protection, not a jail sentence.
“If I show you the microphones, will that prove what I’ve been telling you?” I finally asked.
“It’ll go a ways toward convincing me that somebody is setting Paula up, although a motive would go even further.”
“You can’t have the motive, but I’ll tell you what. When we get home, we’ll march over to Paula’s house and I’ll show you those microphones.”
“You don’t live there. You can’t give me permission to search her house. Only Paula can.”
“And she will.” At least, I hoped I could con her into agreeing.
“Okay.” He gave me a brief glance and a wicked smile and I realized I’d been had. Well, it was for a good cause, and seeing the microphones wouldn’t give away Paula’s secret.
We drove another block before he spoke again. “You planning to get back together with that guy?”
“No, of course not.”
“He doesn’t seem to realize that.”
“That’s why he’s a successful salesman. He doesn’t know the meaning of the word no.”
“You’re going with him to your parents’ house for dinner on Saturday. That sounds pretty cozy.”
“It wasn’t my idea. I did everything I could to get out of it.”
“Ever thought of saying no?”
“Several times. I told you, he doesn’t know the meaning of that word.”
“When’s your divorce final?”
“Three weeks.”
He parked in front of my house. Rick pulled into my driveway. Paula’s car was already sitting in hers which meant she hadn’t left town yet. Henry was waiting on my porch.
We all got out and went inside. Henry alternated twining himself around my legs and Trent’s legs. He hissed at Rick. Good cat.
“Rick, I’ve got to take Trent over to Paula’s house and then I’m coming back and going straight to bed. I really don’t feel very good.”
He pecked my cheek with the type of parting kiss married people share. “I’ll pick you up at five on Saturday. Call me if you need anything.”
I didn’t see any point in wasting more time arguing, and he left.
Trent and I went over to Paula’s house. She wasn’t wild about the idea of letting him come in to search for the bugs, but I convinced her. Convinced, conned…very similar words.
Not that any of it mattered. The bugs had disappeared.
Chapter Sixteen
All things considered, I was feeling surprisingly good by the time I got to work the next day. I didn’t even mind waking up so early. I was just happy to be waking up at all.
We’d finished with the breakfast crowd, and I was trying to decide which chocolate fantasy to feature that day when Fred called.
“Is Paula there?”
“No, she just left to take Zach to day care. What’s up?”
“I finally got some information on Paula’s father-in-law.” He sounded disgusted, and I couldn’t wait to hear what the dirt would be. “I should have uncovered it long ago, but I did it the hard way. I can’t even tell you how many databases I’ve hacked into, and all this time it was a matter of public record, available to anybody. I can’t believe I was so dumb about this.”
“Fred! Just tell me what you found! You can beat up on yourself later. In fact, I may come over there and do it right now if you don’t tell me what you know about Lester Bennett.”
“He’s dead.”
“Dead? Damn! Somebody got to him before me, huh? I hope they tortured him first.”
“Not exactly. He died in Dallas six months ago from complications of a stroke.”
“Six months ago?” I repeated incredulously. “No, wait a minute. If Lester Bennett’s been dead for six months, who the hell is Lester Mackey?”
“There’s no way to be certain, but, considering all the available data, it’s possible Lester Mackey is really David Bennett.”
My head was spinning almost as wildly as it had last night after I ate all the poisoned pudding cake. “David Bennett cannot be Lester Mackey,” I said, slowly and precisely. “David Bennett is dead. Paula killed him.”
“Unfortunately, she didn’t. After I wasted hours getting to Lester’s death certificate, I checked David’s and didn’t find it. Then I checked the newspaper stories. All public information. All right out there in the open for anybody to find. I can’t believe I missed it.”
“Fred! Stop obsessing! What was in the newspaper stories?”
“I have the first story right here. Dallas police officer, David Bennett, was shot Thursday night by his estranged wife, Paula Bennett, at Mrs. Bennett’s place of residence in Ft. Worth. Mrs. Bennett called 911 and confessed to the crime then disappeared with the couple’s infant son. Officer Bennett is in stable condition at Harris Methodist Hospital. A warrant has been issued for Mrs. Bennett’s arrest for attempted murder. According to Officer Bennett, his wife’s recurring mental problems were exacerbated by her recent pregnancy. Mrs. Bennett requested Thursday morning that her husband come to her place of residence to discuss a reconciliation. However, when he arrived, she became hysterical and threatened to kill herself and the child. Officer Bennett tried to calm her, but she took a gun from her purse and shot him. Bennett is concerned for his child’s safety.”
“That’s outrageous! How could they believe that bastard?”
“It sounds plausible. If I didn’t know Paula as well as I do, I’d believe it.”
“But anybody who knows Paula wouldn’t believe it. That’s why he’s been trying to prove she’s an unfit mother and even a murderer. He can’t afford for people to hear her side, not with all those scars he gave her. I’d think they make a pretty good case for self-defense.”
“It certainly wouldn’t help his reputation any. So to completely discredit her, even make it look like she could have killed somebody, he invented Lester Mackey. Hard to prove the man’s not dead when he wasn’t alive in the first place.”
“But that business with Mackey is all circumstantial evidence. Without a body, it would be almost impossible to get a conviction. Putting her under suspicion wouldn’t even help Bennett get a conviction against her for his attempted murder. The evidence of Lester Mackey’s pretend murder wouldn’t be admissible in a trial for Bennett’s attempted murder.” Even though Dad’s a civil lawyer, I knew a little bit about criminal law. I read John Grisham. “None of this makes sense.”
“No, it doesn’t make sense if you look at it from the angle of sending Paula to prison. But there’s another possible angle we need to consider. All of that would be admissible in a custody action. If you’ve got two parents competing for custody of a minor child, and one of them is a police officer while the other admits shooting her husband, even in self-defense, and she’s under suspicion of involvement in another death, namely Mackey’s, plus Zach disappeared one evening while in her custody, and the police found sleeping pills with no prescription in her medicine cabinet, the social worker isn’t likely to choose Paula.”
“Damn.” The swear word came out pretty weak, lacking its usual oomph. Sick fear had taken the place of all that adrenaline of righteous anger. “He wants Zach.” I couldn’t even stand to think of what the monster who’d put that scar on Paula’s cheek and terrified her so badly would do to that sweet little boy.
“That type sociopath prefers to target people he can easily control…vulnerable women and children. You’ll notice part of his activities, like the bear, were geared so
lely toward tormenting Paula, punishing her for betraying him. Taking her son will be the ultimate punishment.”
“Geez! Do you have to sound so clinical?”
“Yes, I do. And I’m not finished. Bennett’s problem with you is that he can’t control you. He’s not trying to kill you because of your father’s mythical lawyer associates. He knows Paula told you the truth, and he knows you’re pushy and you’ve got a big mouth and an in with a cop. He knows he’s got a real problem with you.”
“Much as I enjoy discussing all my positive attributes, the big question is, what do we do now? Paula can’t keep running. This guy’s a cop. He’ll find her wherever she goes. What if we catch him and make him submit to a blood test, then compare his blood to Lester Mackey’s? If they’re the same, we’ll have him! Wouldn’t that clear up a lot of things and prove how nuts he is?”
“It would certainly throw a new light on things. But first you have to catch him and then you have to get blood from him and then you have to find somebody who’ll do the testing.”
“If I ever catch him, trust me, I’ll get blood from that bastard, and if Trent won’t do the testing, you could find somebody.”
“One thing about you, Lin, you don’t back off just because something’s impossible. Even after you extract blood from this guy and, we hope, live to get that blood analyzed, what we really need is a confession. Considering the dearth of witnesses, this could turn into a nasty court battle.”
“Okay, so we’ll get a confession, too.”
“I see. How?”
“We’ll think of something.”
“Since this guy’s so good at hiding that we’ve never even seen him, first we have to catch him.”
I thought about that for a minute then finally came up with an idea that rivaled the time I vacuumed out the fireplace using a bag that had a hole in it. “If Bennett’s so hot to do me in, can’t we use me as bait?”
“I think that poison affected your brain!” Fred rarely spoke in exclamation points. “Why would you put yourself in danger again? Anyway, this guy’s smart. He’s going to be very cautious now that he failed to kill you. It could be that he’s even accessed the police records and is aware that we know you were poisoned.”
Sally Berneathy - Death by Chocolate 01 - Death by Chocolate Page 19